


Danielle Wilder. Atlas love story.

by Lou_La



Series: Now You See Me. (Whump Dump/Lovey Dovey) [2]
Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: Arugments, Death, F/M, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Living in England, Romance, Sadness, Siblings, british terms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lou_La/pseuds/Lou_La
Summary: “Wilder? As in Jack Wilder?” // “Yeah, why?” // “Well, it appears you’re gonna have a family reunion soon. He’s helped us pull this whole thing off.” // Meet Danielle Wilder. Ever since she was a young girl, Danielle wanted to be in the FBI. At 21 years old, Danielle had lost and gained so much. Follow her journey as she unravels the mystery of the four horsemen… and tries to stop her own life from spiralling out of control.
Relationships: J. Daniel Atlas/Henley Reeves, J. Daniel Atlas/Original Female Character(s), Jack Wilder & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Now You See Me. (Whump Dump/Lovey Dovey) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884307
Kudos: 5





	1. ~1: Danielle Wilder.

Hi. I’m Astrid Wilder. I don’t like my first name, so I normally go by my middle name, Danielle. You only call me Astrid if I let you, or if you’re my enemy.

And I don’t have many enemies.

My mum and dad split up when I was really, really young. Like, still being breastfed, young. I have 3 older brothers and 1 older sister. My mum and dad’s divorce was really ugly and nasty. I was sent to live with my nan with my siblings while the divorce went though. My mum won permanent custody of me, while my other siblings were joint custody. My mum also won half of the house we used to live in and half of my dad’s salary. They sold the house at $450,000, and the court then awarded my mum $250,000. My dad also had to pay $75,000 in sum and a continuous child support up until 4 years ago, when I turned 18.

Overall, my mum left the States with $325,000 in her bank. She let me keep my surname, but hyphenated it with her maiden name, Miller. 

As soon as the divorce was finalised, my mum moved to England. She converted the money into English currency, leaving her with £250,000. Believe it or not, but that kind of cash won’t get you very far. It’ll get you a nice house, don’t get me wrong, but you’d have a hell of a mortgage on it. My mum ended up buying a house in Cambridgeshire. [www.rightmove.co.uk/property-for-sale/property-72713067.html](https://www.rightmove.co.uk/property-for-sale/property-72713067.html)

She ended up with a large mortgage, but we lived in that house for 18 years. My dad occasionally flew over to see me with my siblings, usually when it was drop off time for them. He’d stay a week, then leave again, either alone or taking them back with him.

My siblings were… interesting people, to say the least. My oldest brother, Simon, was a very dull character. He had dreams of going to Harvard, and being a doctor. Unfortunately, he lacked the intelligence to do so. Simon was born 8 years before I was, making him 29. He’s followed by my sister, Amy. Unlike Simon, Amy was accepted into Harvard, and passed through with the degrees for nursing and midwifery. Amy was born 6 years before me, making her 27. Then was my other brother, Thomas. Thomas was still in Uni studying chemistry, I think. Thomas is 25, making him 4 years older than me. Finally, there’s Jack. Jack was only 11 months old when I was born. 

I get the feeling that I was an unplanned pregnancy. I was born in the May after Jack was. Jack was born in June 1991, while I was born in May 1992.

We were quite close when he visited for 6 months every year. Amy normally played with Thomas, while Simon kinda stayed to himself.

When Simon turned 16, he stopped coming every 6 months. Same with Amy… and Thomas… and then eventually Jack. 

I grew closer to my mum and focused on my studies of being an FBI agent. The FBI don’t operate in England, but I got into contact with them when I visited my dad a few days before I turned 16. Some guy called Agent Rhodes laughed at me. When I explained I wasn’t messing around, and I was serious, they let me sit in on a rookie training class. It was to separate the wheat from the chaff. In other words, the whimps to the serious. 

Agent Rhodes called on me, hoping to embarrass me, but I’d studied. “Miss Wilder… what would you do, if someone had committed treason against our president and was armed with a handgun?” I sat up a little straighter and replied. “First, you would try to talk them down from the attack. If that didn’t work, you would pull out your own weapon and strongly insist they drop the gun and don’t continue further. If _that_ doesn’t work, you would then kneecap them, incapacitating them. You’d obviously then kick the gun away, keeping yours trained on their heads, politely encouraging them not to make any threatening movements.” I explained. Agent Rhodes and the class had gaped at me, either scared or impressed, it was a 50/50 draw really.

“How old are you, Miss Wilder?” Rhodes asked, watching me closely. “I’m 16 in 3 days.” I replied, standing a little taller. The class immediately began whispering. “Impressive,” A new voice sounded from the doorway. The class instantly stood up and faced the wall. A coloured man walked in with a small smirk on his face. “Agent Evans. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wilder.” I shook his hand, not knowing who he was, but judging from the way the class had reacted, he was important. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” I asked. Evans smirked a little wider. “I’m the director of this section. I have to say, you’ve impressed me. Walk with me?” I obviously didn’t turn him down. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I felt a little out of place as I walked through the corridors with Agent Evans. Everyone was in smart uniform, or formal wear with normal hair colours… and here I was: in denim shorts and a tank top slightly too big, with bright purple hair.

Evans lead me into a small office and gestured for me to sit down. I waited and allowed him to sit first. “You clearly know what you’re doing, Miss Wilder. But, I’m going to presume that you aren’t an American citizen?” I moved my bag in-between my legs on the slightly uncomfy chair. “Kinda… I have dual British/American citizenship. But yeah, I mainly live in Britain.” Evans nodded, pressing two fingers to his lips, other fingers interlocked. “Why do you have an interest in the FBI? The FBI doesn’t operate in England, as far as I’m aware.” I shook my head, flicking my fringe out of the way. “No, there isn’t. The closest thing is Mi5. But I want to join the FBI. A) most of my family is over here, bar my mum, and B) some slightly personal issues.” I replied, not saying everything. “Do you mind me asking what personal issues?” Evans retorted. “My friend was missing for nearly 2 months before anyone did anything. Then she was supposedly murdered, and they never found her body. So, for all I know, she’s alive. It just made me so angry that no-one never bothered to try and find her. She was my best friend for nearly 6 years and helped me though so much… I just don’t want anyone else in that position.” I replied, feeling my heart clench painfully. “So why not join the Police force?” Evans asked, his dark brown eyes drilling into my own hazel eyes. “Because the police were useless. They did nothing, and I want to be somewhere higher up. I want to help people.” I said back, not breaking my gaze once. 

Evans nodded and leant back into his chair. “Hmm… well, obviously you’d have to go through training before you could join. But, if you manage to get into Mi5, I will find a way for you to join the FBI at whatever position you are in when I find you. For example, if you are director of a department in Mi5, you will transfer here into the same role. I have some contacts in Mi5 anyway. They’ll keep me informed."

When I told you my heart soared, I wasn’t kidding. “Thank you so much, Agent Evans! I won’t let you down!"

* * *

Ever since then, I worked towards being accepted into Mi5. I began studying as soon as I got home. I managed to get in when I turned 19, having already spoken to several people and graduating early with top grades. My mum became quite sick, so I sold our house and moved back to the States. With the money we rejected from the house, she let me buy a small flat on a 6 month time share. I could go back as and when I wanted. My whole life was in Cambridgeshire, I couldn’t just leave it. Not even for my dream job. And besides, the deal that was eventually made between the FBI and Mi5 was that when I wasn’t busy with one, I was to work with the other. So I was doing a year or two in the states before coming back home.

My mum moved moved in with her sister, who looked after her while I worked with the FBI. It took me another 2 years before I got my first case.

* * *

“Good news, Wilder. You’ve got your first case.” Was the phone call I received at 4 in the morning. I mumbled something and the voice on the other end had scoffed. “That means wake up, you lazy ass.” I rubbed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to wake myself up. “Ok, ok. When and where do I need to be there?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my head. “Boss wants you there by 5. He wants to brief you before you begin.” I nodded, then realised they couldn’t see me. “Ok. I’ll be there.” 

“Oh! Before you go!” I stopped before hanging up. “Yeah?” I was slightly more awake now. “It’s in Vegas, and your flight is booked for 5:30." I hung up and walked into my kitchen to do a cup of tea.

* * *

I was living with my aunt and mum while I waited for my apartment to be ready. I’d put an offer in about 4 months ago, but the person who I was buying from had some complications her end, so I temporally moved in with my aunt. I walked into the small bathroom and did my makeup roughly so I didn’t look like a zombie. I dressed in my black yoga pants and hoodie. I neatly folded up some professional skirts (1) (2), blouses (1) (2) and dresses (1) ([2](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcSzBz4pK7pdfpWijyzCAGRZIN2dOGoLBhn1Aw&usqp=CAU)). I threw in a some of my favourite black heels (1) (2) ([3](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcRG4v9JUxcmPXTkDqxMqzCNYG8l0KIDd7YfgQ&usqp=CAU)) and black shoes (1) before dumping my makeup bag and (1) (2) cardigans in. I wrote a quick note to my mum and aunt saying how I was wanted in Vegas and didn’t know how long I was to be away. 

Before I left, I gave the dogs a small treat each and locked up. I got into my blue Peugeot and drove to a private car park, just under the normal car park. I showed the guy at the front my FBI badge and was allowed in. The space below was normally for celebrities/professional people. It minimised the risk of having your car nicked. 

* * *

I was sat on the plane by 5. Luckily, I only lived a 20 minute drive away from the airport, so that made it easier. My apartment that I was going to move into was slightly further away from the airport, but closer to the FBI base. Evans had laughed at what I rocked up in, while a few other FBI agents I didn’t get along with glared at me. “Good to see you’re awake, Agent Wilder.” I chuckled and held up my small suitcase. “I have better clothing in here. I just didn’t have the time to get dressed earlier."

Evans briefed me on what my task was. “Hang on, did you say magicians? As in Harry Houdini and David Copperfield?” I asked, shocked. “Not quite, but yeah. They just robbed 3.2 million euros from a Parisian Bank, at about 4 in the morning in New York. 1 the morning in Vegas.” I exhaled deeply, trying to wrap my mind around it. “Ok, so we’re due to land at 10 in Vegas, yeah?” I asked. “Yeah, but in Vegas, it’ll be 7 in the morning. By the time we get to the centre to interrogate them, introduce you to your new partner and debrief you both, it’ll be about 10 for them.” Evans explained. I nodded. “Ok, well… I’m going to get a cup of tea and get ready.” I said, standing up and walking to the front of the first class area of the plane. “If you woke up sooner, you wouldn’t need to get ready.” A voice snarked from behind me. I turned around with a smile on my face. “Good to see you to, Marie.”

* * *

“Evans, why _her?!_ She’s a rookie!!” A voice whined from just outside the door. I’d landed in Vegas about an hour ago and was nursing my 5th tea of the morning. The door opened and Evans walked in, looking very annoyed. “Enough, Rhodes. Agent Wilder is your partner, and that’s that.” I rolled my eyes, but smiled. “Hello Rhodes. I see the last 5 years haven’t been kind to you.” Evans bit his lip and looked away. Rhodes face turned an interesting shade of purple. “Let’s just get on with it, Wilder."

* * *

First, we saw Atlas.

And by god, was he an arrogant tosser. I was sat in the chair directly opposite, while Dylan was sat on my left. “Was this your card?” He asked after Dylan had asked his name. I raised an eyebrow, acting unimpressed, but I was. Jack had always practised with playing cards when he was young, and I was always the testing dummy. I loved watching him do different tricks and I adored it when he guessed my card or sliced a pencil in half with a flick. 

I’d tried to perform card tricks as well, but I could never flick them right. I’d end up flicking them everywhere and messing it up.

But, while I was trying to interrogate Atlas, he was doing some card tricks. From my perspective, it was a tick, sort of. It was something he did when he was nervous or anxious. I watched his face carefully and his body movements. His face was calm, neutral, perhaps even bored. But his eyes were sightly wider than one’s normal eyes, meaning he was somewhat anxious, worried or scared. 

His movements, while his hands moved effortlessly and smoothly, were jerky. He flicked his wrist, changing the Queen of Hearts card to the 5 of spades. His whole body jerked slightly when he flicked the card over.

When I tell you my inner child screamed with joy, I was being serious.

I kept an impassive face as I watched, my eyebrow quirking up slightly. “Impressive,” I said. His eyes widened slightly. “Interpol?” He asked, smirking. I smirked back and folded my arms, leaning forward so my elbows rested on the table. “No,” I enjoyed the look of confusion on his face. “Wilder, get on with it. I don’t have all day.” Atlas’ eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Wilder? As in Jack Wilder?” 

Confusion ran through my body. How did they know Jack? “No, as in Agent Wilder. But Jack is my brother, how do you know him?” I asked, ignoring Dylan’s protests for me to shut up. Atlas leant back in his chair with a cocky smirk on his face. “Well, it appears you’re gonna have a family reunion soon. He’s helped us pull this whole thing off."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and scoff. “Is that so? Well, if he has, then I’ll be interrogating him later on. For now though, I’m busy with you. Now, how did the playing card get into the vault?” I asked, diverting the topic away. Dylan growled in frustration and left. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Rhodes?” I asked, not breaking my gaze with Atlas. I know that the people outside the room can hear whatever goes on in here. Atlas snickered quietly. “How are you English, but Jack is American?” He asked, not answering my earlier question. “See, Mr Atlas… there are these magical things called planes. They take you from country to country.” I snarked. Atlas narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you are Jack’s sister all right.” I smirked widely, knowing I’d gotten under his skin. “How are you in the rank your in, when you can’t be any more than 23 years old?” Atlas asked. “Actually, I’m 21. I’m not 22 for another 11 months.” I paused to let Atlas absorb the info. “And I’ve been working towards the FBI since I was 15 years old. I was accepted into it was I was only 19.” Atlas raised his eyebrows, then leant back into his seat. “So… are you gonna do your job and finish interrogating me? Or are we done here?"


	2. ~2: Interrogation.

After my, _very,_ irritating interrogation with Atlas, we moved onto Henley Reeves. “It says here that you’re from a very privileged family… very nice houses, lots of money, a few businesses… you even have a house in the Bahamas,” Dylan read from her folder. I stayed quiet, and chose to just watch this time. Arguing with Atlas had drained me: emotionally and mentally.

“Did your research did you, dear?” Henley asked, unlocking her handcuffs and locking them back up again. I bit the inside of my lip and watched her movements carefully. “Why’d you leave? I wouldn’t have if my family were that rich,” Dylan continued, ignoring what Henley said beforehand. “Well, Agent… Not all of us are in it for the money, am I right, English Lady?” I snapped myself out of my daydream and focused on what Henley was saying. “What?” I asked, frowning. Dylan rolled his eyes, “Wilder, if you’re gonna be on this case with me, sort yourself out. Stop falling asleep on the job,” He snapped. I turned my whole body to face him and glared back, ten times as hard. “Have you ever heard the saying “don’t pull a tigers tale?” Dylan?” Without waiting for an answer, I plowed on, “I strongly suggest you head that phrase.” Dylan’s head rose slightly as he stared at me. “Oh really? Is-is that a threat?” He asked, his voice low. “If we’re gonna have a contest on who can be more of a dick, trust me, you’ll loose. I am _tired_ , I am _hungry_ , I am _still_ on the English time zone, I got _no sleep_ last night, _and…_ to top it _all_ off…. I’m on my _period…_ Do you wanna test my patience?” I asked, raising my eyebrows, emphasising my point. 

Henley snickered and I diverted my attention to her. She raised her now uncuffed hands up in surrender. “Hey, I respect you girl. Boys have no idea what it’s like.” I closed my eyes and massaged my head. “I’m thinking we should have put you in a straight jacket.”

* * *

Dylan wanted to speak to Merritt next. I, again, stayed quiet. I was saving my energy for when we interrogated my brother. If he was anything like me (which he may not be, 6 years can change even the best of people) then we were in for an interesting conversation. 

“Merritt McKinney… it says here that you’re a mentalist.” Dylan said as soon as we were sat down opposite the 40-something-year-old man. Merritt tipped his head slightly in agreement. “What exactly is _mentalism_?” I took a sip of my tea and tried desperately to pay attention, but my mind kept drifting to how the interrogation with Jack would go.

“Mmm, did ya research did ya?” I snapped out of my daze and snorted. Both men turned to me. One had annoyance clear in his expression, while the other sported confusion, and interest. “I just find it amusing that McKinney and Reeves said the same thing… carry on, gentlemen.” Dylan sighed deeply and turned away from me. 

Merritt suddenly smirked as he watched us both. “Is this your first date?” He asked, gesturing to us both. Dylan began stuttering out an excuse, while I (the classy young lady that I am) gagged loudly at the thought. 

Dylan looked mildly offended.

“I wouldn’t go out with him if he was the last man on Earth. I’d rather be gay… not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just don’t swing that way,” I babbled. I babble when I’m nervous or when I feel stupid.

Dylan began arguing with Merritt again, and, once again, my thoughts drifted to Jack. 

_It was just after my 15th birthday when Jack stopped visiting. The custody agreement only said my siblings had to do a 6-month stay with each parent until they turned 16. Simon stopped at 16, Amy stopped at 16, hell, Thomas stopped when he was 14. He claimed he was ill, or busy._

_The only one I could count on was Jack. I would stay with my boyfriend, who lived a lot closer to airport than I did, the night before Jack landed and I would track his flight until he landed. I’d be waiting at the gate for him to get off the plane and I’d spend every waking moment with him up until he left for California again._

_I’d just come back from my own visit to California a little ways after I turned 15, when Jack said: “I don’t think I’ll be able to come this year, Ast.” I only let Jack call me by my first name. My thoughts screeched to a halt. “Why? You come every year?” I asked, feeling somewhat hurt. “I’ve just got lots of school stuff to sort out… I can come next year though?” I smiled sadly and hugged him just before getting on the plane. “Sure, ok."_

_But he never did come next year… or ever again._

__“But you should know, _she_ has some very big secrets.” Merritt’s annoying voice snapped me out of my mind. I frowned, acting like I’d been paying attention. I could feel Dylan’s gaze on my shoulders. I ignored him. “Like… this is your first time off the desk… isn’t it?” McKinney asked. I stayed quiet. Dylan turned to watch me. It wasn’t technically my first time off the desk, but it was at the same time.

I received my first off-the-desk mission, it was when I was in London with Mi5. They needed someone to track down a massive drug lord who was luring his prey in to get them to buy drugs, and when they’d spent all the money they had, he either used them as sex slaves to sell or killed them. 

I had to act like a drug addicted bimbo for a month. It was awful. I was in ridiculously sort skirt, and super tight crop tops. It didn’t help that his son then developed a thing for me.

And as part of it, I acted like I wanted his son. Of course, it worked. Problem was… he was a really nice guy… and I liked him back. So, I had to continue seeing him in private, away from my life in Mi5. 

But, yeah. This mission was my first time off the desk with the FBI.

“Don’t draw him in, and then abandon him. Abandonment is a _big_ area for him…” McKinney continued as he turned to Dylan. I followed McKinney's unnaturally piercing gaze. “Mommy?” He paused, then clicked his tongue. “Ah, _Daddy._ Big… daddy issues.” I frowned slightly, watching Dylan’s expression. His asshole, guarded expression fell for a split second.

He did have Daddy issues… I wonder why. Dylan caught my gaze and I quickly turned away, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “That’s enough,” He bit out, grounding his teeth as he faced the mentalist. “Tell ya what… your average therapist is gonna cost 2-300 for this sesh, me? I’ll take a tenner.” I smiled, but tried to hide it. Dylan didn’t say anything, he just continued reading through the files. “Ok, maybe later if your feeling magnanimous… I’ll still take a tenner.” My smile grew and I licked my bottom lip, trying even harder to keep it from bursting out. Dylan just rolled his eyes and turned to me, ignoring the mentalist. “I’ve had enough of David Copperfield and friends, you can deal with your brother,” 

Yay.

* * *

Jack was asleep when we walked in. Of course he was asleep. That was all he ever did when we had our visits. I sat in my chair silently. He eventually opened his eyes with a lazy grin. “I assume by the tired face that you’ve already spoken to either Atlas, McKinney or both?” He taunted, closing his eyes again. “Both,” I replied. I kept my voice monotone. Jack jumped in his seat with his eyes wide. I leaned back into my chair and plastered a lazy smirk on. “Hello older brother,” I said. Jack’s eyes darted between my face and my 3 badges. One on each shoulder and one on my breast. 

“Since when are you FBI? You’re only 21!” He exclaimed. I could see Dylan was watching the exchange with wary eyes. “Well, if you'd bothered to check in with me in the last 6 years, you’d know a hell of a lot more. But you didn’t… and you don’t.” I watched his expression sour and his face look down. “Boo hoo,” I mocked.

Yeah, I was pissed off. Honest to god, I am _the most petty_ person in the world. Like, just for an example, my ex boyfriend (yeah, the drug lords son from earlier) bought me a ring for my 18th birthday, but we split up 3 weeks later. I loved the ring to pieces and thought it was beautiful. I sold it and used the money to buy the exact ring but from a different store. That way it was just mine, and not something my ex gave me.

That’s how petty I can be.

Anyway, Jack’s face hardened. “Jack Wilder. 22 years old, national American Citizen. Had duel British/American citizenship, but changed it 5 years ago to single citizenship of the USA. Born and raised in San Francisco, California. Partly lived in Cambridgeshire for 6 months a year for 15 years, when you changed your citizenship. Why was that?” Dylan asked. My head snapped to Jack’s, who looked away guilty. “You changed to single citizenship? Why?” I asked. I felt like crying. _Why would he do this?_

“Because I…well…I…” Jack began. My rage overtook my body. “Because you had no intention of coming back… did you?” I spat, my upper lip curling. Jack didn’t answer me. I scoffed and stood up, desperately trying to stop the tears from rolling down. “I’m out. I can’t interrogate him.” Without waiting for an answer, I forcefully slammed my chair back under the metal desk and stormed out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me. 

* * *

“Wilder, what the hell was that?” Was Dylan’s first words when he found me sitting outside the FBI centre, watching the lunchtime rush of Vegas begin to rush in. I didn’t answer him. I took a long gulp of my still-slightly-too-hot hot chocolate. “Hey! I asked you a question!” Dylan shouted. I shrugged. “I heard you,” I replied. I could hear Dylan’s ears whistling. “Then why didn’t you answer me?” He seethed behind me. “I’m not in your interrogation room. I don’t have to answer anything.” I said as I stood up and faced him. “You’ve been crying,” He stated. I rolled my eyes and sniffed, wiping my nose. “Yeah, you would be as well when you find out your sibling that you were super close to stopped visiting you and he changed his citizenship to single again.” Dylan was silent. I turned back around and dropped my now empty cup into the bin next to me. 

“Where are you staying?” He asked. “I’m gonna catch a flight back to New York, my apartment has just been completed. I just need to grab the keys. I’m gonna drive to their next show.” I said, already dreading it. The car drive was gonna be 20 hours, and that was without any pit stops. “Wait, next show? They’re doing another one?” Dylan asked. I rolled my eyes. “You aren’t very attentive, are you Rhodes?” His eyes narrowed. “They handed out flyers after the show, apparently. All I did before we interrogated Atlas was go to the MGM Grande to see if there were any spare flyers on the ground.” Dylan looked like he was gonna strangle me. “You didn’t tell me this?” He asked. “I thought scoping the area they performed in was basic FBI skills. It's what we do in Mi5, anyway.” Dylan’s face calmed somewhat. 

The FBI and Mi5 were more different than similar. Sure, they both had specific people trained for specific jobs, but the FBI required a hell of a lot less training than Mi5. They accepted me as a “distraction creator” for the team when I was only 16 years old. I wasn’t allowed to know anything majorly important, I only got told the very basics. Like, names, ages, jobs, families etc.

I received my first FBI mission just a week after turning 21, and they’d only accepted me when I was 19. What does that say?

“So where’s their next show then?” Dylan asked. “New Orleans, at the Savoy Theatre. It’s scheduled for Saturday night.” Saturday was only 3 days away, so I had to get a move on. “Ok. How’re you getting there?” Dylan asked. “I’m gonna drive. I have a friend who lives in Mississippi. I said on my way through I’d drop his sister off on the way. We’re gonna take it in turns driving, before you ask. I’ve got a flight for New York booked in about 3 hours, so I best be going.” I said. “Hang on, that’s like a 20 hour drive! You can’t do that!” Dylan exclaimed as if I was stupid. “I know that, that’s why I’m setting off tomorrow. I’ve booked a one night stay in a few places.” Dylan didn’t look convinced, and I have to admit, it was nice to have a somewhat concerned person for me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have my mum, aunt, cousin and friends, but they’re all busy. My mum had a nervous breakdown and can just about look after herself, my aunt is worrying about my mum, my cousin lives in New Jersey, and my friends show concern like friends do.

The concern Dylan was showing me was like brotherly concern and I lavished in it. “If you want, I’ll send you my timings of when I’ll be where.” I said, smiling gently. Dylan dismissed it, but I could see in his eyes that he would appreciate it.

* * *

So, as soon as I got back to New York (and picked up Nicola on the way, my mates sister) I finalised my routes to New Orleans. Luckily, there was one apartment left open to stay in on the day the Horsemen were performing. The sneaky bastards had planned it for the peak of Mardi Gras, and that alone lasted for 2 weeks. 

Our plan was to hit it in runs of 4.5 hours each. The run to Mississippi would take just over 18 hours, so I’d do the first 4 and a half hours, then rest while Nicola did the next 4 and a half hours, and so forth. 

Once I’d dropped her off at my mates, I’d make the final run to New Orleans, which should only take about 3 hours. That’s not too bad. All in all, I’d be driving 12 hours, and Nicola would be driving 9.

I didn’t mind though, if I left tomorrow morning by 9, we’d be in Mississippi by 3am on Friday. Then I’d stay for a few hours, just to rest and have some decent home-cooked food and set off again. 

I was planning on setting off by 7, so I could get my 4 hours of sleep in before getting to New Orleans by 11 on Friday. Then I could freshen up and have a day to sort myself out before throwing myself into the FBI role again.

Great.


	3. ~3: Driving and Bad Memories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: MENTIONS OF RAPE AND ADOPTION.

The first half of the drive went effortlessly. I’d had Nicola stay at mine the night before so we could go straight off. I took the first 4 and a half hour drive, which would take us to just outside of Pennsylvania, where Nicola would then drive to Ohio. I’d then drive to Kentucky, then Nicola would continue to Tennessee. We’d probably stop off there for an hour or so to get some food and stretch our legs then I'd continue on to Georgia. It was slightly longer than my 4 and a half hour drive, but I didn’t mind. I found driving somewhat peaceful. It was only an extra hour or so.

Nicola would then make the final run to her brothers in Mississippi. I’d drop her off, stay for an hour or so to stretch my legs and each some good food, say hi to my mate and then leave off for New Orleans.

We managed to get just outside of Kentucky before the drive became tense. “Whats up Nicki? You’ve hardly said two words to me so far,” I asked as I stretched out in the passenger seat while Nicola drove to Tennessee. “Hmm? Oh nothing, don’t worry about it.” I frowned. “Don’t bullshit me, Nicola Jameson.” I used the full name. Nicola briefly turned to me with annoyance in her eyes before turning back to the road. “It’s nothing to do with you, Dani. Stop worrying,” She tried to keep her voice level, but I heard it shake slightly. 

I sighed and went to my phone, checking if I had anything from the FBI or Mi5, but I didn’t. I did a bit of Facebook stalking instead. Nicola didn’t say anything to me.

I broke the silence about 15 minutes later with: “Nicki, you don’t get to where I am without knowing a few tricks of the trade,” I spoke gently. Nicola’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I know you aren’t telling me something, Nicki. If you really don’t want to tell me, say, and I’ll stop. It’s my job to know if something is bothering you. Your brother has the same emotional availability as a celery stick.” Nicki snorted. 

I considered it a win.

“Just some shit at Uni, that’s all. Exams and all that,” Nicki continued. “How is Uni, actually?” I asked, trying to lighten the subject. “I don’t wanna talk about it, just know it’s not great at the minute.” She shut down. I frowned. “Ok, what are you studying? Cus last I knew, it was film and tv.” I asked. “No, I changed to Drama.” She continued. 

NYU didn’t offer drama as a course.

“Nicki, did you drop out?” I asked. It was only for a split second, but her face fell slightly. “You did,” I realised with a shock. Nicki’s face hardened again. “No I didn’t.” I scoffed. “Nicola, I’m in the FBI. It’s literally my job to tell if people are lying. And _you_ , my dear, are lying. Why didn’t you say anything?” I said, watching her reaction carefully. 

“It just wasn’t for me,” She avoided the question. “Nicki?” I prompted. She didn’t look at me. I stayed quiet, not wanting to push. Instead, I looked her over.

I never had a sister (not including Amy… we were just kinda born out of the same nunny, we had nothing in common apart from our last name) to look after. When I met Matthew when I was 13, Nicki was only 10. We grew super close in my 6-month visits to the States. I kinda ended up adopting her as my unofficial little sister.

Her face was slightly pale and thin, but Nicki had always been like that. Her thick, brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she had little makeup on. I noticed her top that she was wearing was a little too short, but not in length, in tightness.

Nicki’s stomach was bigger than usual. I’ve got no problem with big girls, but Nicki had never had cellulite on her body. It may just be the way she was sitting, but something told me she wasn’t. I noticed how her free arm was circled round it slightly, almost protectively.

“Nicki… do you have a boyfriend?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Uh, I did. We broke up a little over 3 weeks ago… why do you ask?” If I’m right, then she dropped out of Uni a little over 3 weeks ago. “Nicki, why did he leave you?” I asked. Nicola’s eyes hardened slightly. “I don’t know. He just sent me a message saying we couldn’t see each other anymore.” I frowned. “Could it be perhaps you’re pregnant?” Something flashed through her eyes. “Oh, you are…” I whispered. Nicola didn’t say anything.

 _"That’s_ why you dropped out of NYU… and that’s why he left you.” I continued, everything matching up in my head. Nicola stayed quiet for a while. I didn’t bother to fill in the silence. “Don’t tell Matt.” Nicola finally said. I didn’t say anything. “I mean it, Dani. It’s not your secret to tell,” She continued. “I won’t don’t worry. I’m just shocked, is all.” Nothing was said for another half an hour or so. “How did you know?” Nicola finally asked, “and don’t give me that, “I’m FBI” shit. How did you know?” I stayed quiet for a second, trying to think of something. I decided on telling the truth.

“Because I was pregnant once too. You acted the same way I did,” I finally said. Nicola turned and faced me with wide eyes. She suddenly pulled into a lay-by and turned the car off. My eyes widened at the sudden sharp turn, “JESUS NICKI! DRIVE PROPERLY!” I couldn’t help but yell as my poor car screeched to a halt.

“ _You?_ Were PREGNANT!? And you didn’t say _anything_?!” I bit my lip and looked out of the window. “It’s because it’s not a very pleasant story, Nicki. No one but my mum and dad know.” I said, almost feeling disgusted by the mere thought of the memory. “Oh… you… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…” Nicki replied, sounding sad. “No, I can. It’s been nearly 3 years. I’ve never spoken about it before, so it’ll probably do me some good… it’s not pleasant, are you _sure_ you want to hear it?” I warned. “It’s ok. I’m guessing by your tone that it wasn’t consensual?” She asked. I shook my head. “No… it’s worse."

* * *

* * *

_4 years ago. 2008. Danielle is 17._

_“Mason, I think I’m ready for us to have sex.” Danielle said, cuddled up to her boyfriend of nearly 3 years. Yeah, it was the drug lords son. Danielle tried to not catch feelings for him, but he treated her like a princess._

_“Wow, really?” Mason asked, looking at her in surprise. “Yeah… I mean, we’ve been together for nearly 3 years. Hell, I knew you for at least a year before we started dating. I trust you,” She replied, looking up at him. Mason grinned and kissed her lips. “Well, it’s a good job I’ve watched all the good romance and sex movies then isn’t it?” He cheekily asked. Danielle snorted. “Steady on, Pedro. Let’s take it step by step.”_

_Their first experience was incredible. It hurt for the first few minutes, but then Danielle adjusted and found it was the best feeling in the world. They had sex periodically every few weeks, normally after one of them had either a great day at college, or a shit day._

_Danielle and Mason’s relationship continued to grow stronger, and their love continued growing. It was nearly Danielle’s 18th birthday when it went to shit._

_Mason had been snooping around her room, Christ only knows why, and had found a folder on his dad from Mi5. They hadn’t officially caught him yet, so the case was still open, even after 4 years. The folder had labeled her as “_ **Project Distraction** _“ and underneath was a picture of her with Mason in the park, holding hands. The folder also contained information of his dad’s dealings, murders, sales and thefts. It also contained information on Mason: his address, his education/job, his family, his hobbies..._

_Danielle had stayed to help her mother clean the house before she went over to Mason’s for the night. Her mum had been struggling with tasks like that for a while, so Danielle had been spending less time at Mason’s. He thought she was cheating on him, so he’d looked around her room and found the folder._

_When Danielle walked through his front door, something hard hit her in the chest. “What the hell?” She shouted, glaring at Mason. “Is this what you do in your free time?” He seethed, nodding towards the manilla folder in her hands. Danielle’s world fell through the floor that day. “Where did you find this?” She managed to ask. “Does that matter?” Mason responded. “_ Where. Did. You. Find. This _?” She asked again. “In your room.” Danielle groaned loudly. “Fuck sake, Mason! I thought we’d agreed on respecting each others privacy! I don’t go snooping through your shit!” She yelled, pissed off. “Well excuse me! My girlfriend of 3 years isn’t actually my girlfriend, she’s using me to spy on my DAD?!” Mason had yelled back. “Believe me, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be here. Sometimes your personality is so_ vile _, it makes me think what I’m doing here still.” She snarled._

_What happened next, neither Mason nor Danielle expected. Mason grabbed and threw a vase at her head. It missed by mere millimetres. “WHAT THE FUCK, YOU PSYCHO!!” Danielle had screeched. Mason didn’t say anything. He was too shocked to say anything. “Asshole!” Danielle yelled as she stormed out of the house._

* * *

_The tension between the two grew stronger and stronger every day. On her 18th birthday, however, Mason was pleasant. Danielle had refused to go round and see him unless he apologised, and he_ _wouldn’t go and see her unless_ she _apologised_ _. But, after he’d asked her to see him on her birthday, if only for an hour at the park, then so be it. Danielle had begrudgingly agreed, but only_ _at the park. She didn’t trust him anymore._

_Mason had bought Danielle a gorgeous_ [Sapphire ring](https://jewellerydiscovery.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/RE-279.jpg) _. It was absolutely stunning. Danielle was so shocked and happy, that she didn’t say no when Mason asked to take her out for drinks._

_One drink lead to two, which lead to three, which lead to five, which lead to ten. Mason had taken Danielle up to the private room above the club (that his dad owned) They had sloppily made out, as drunk people do, but then a text from her Aunt sobered her up quickly._

_Hey, Asti. I’m not trying to worry you, but your mother has gone into hospital. She’s not injured or sick, but she complained that she couldn’t hear or see properly, so I took her in. They’re giving her a brain scan now. I just thought you should know for when you come back later on._

_Happy birthday babe! xx_

_“Mason, stop… I need to ring my Aunt,” Danielle whined trying to pull away. Mason growled and continued to kiss her neck and chest. “Mason, I said stop,” Danielle said again, more forcefully this time. Mason ignored her and continued kissing her chest, moving down to her breasts._

_“Mason, enough!” Danielle yelled, kicking him away. Mason snarled and held her hands down, “Only_ I _can decided when I’ve had enough.” He’d said._

_Then he sexually assaulted her._

* * *

_Mason left the club as soon as he raped her, leaving her bruised and bloody on the floor. Danielle was sobbing as she tried to pick up her discarded clothes. Her lower regions throbbed painfully as she tried to stand. Her shaky hands picked up her phone and dialled the first number she could think of._

_It wasn’t her mum._

_It wasn’t her Aunt._

_It wasn’t even her best friend._

_It was Jacks._

_The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Danielle was just about avoiding a panic attack at this point, desperately praying Jack would pick up. Her heart shattered when: “Hey, it’s Jack… uh… if your hearing this, then I’m probably asleep, so as soon as I see it, I’ll ring you back. Drop your name and I’ll speak later,” rang through the speaker. Danielle openly sobbed as she spoke to the voicemail, desperately hoping Jack would hear her. “Jack, please answer the phone… please, please, please answer the phone!” She cried, her voice getting thicker and thicker. “Please,” Danielle wailed loudly into her arms as the voice message continued recording. “Jack, he raped me… he raped me, Jack. Please answer me!” Danielle cried. The phone suddenly beeped harshly. “We’re sorry, you have reached the maximum recording time for a voice message. Please hang up and dial again, if you wish to speak some more.”_

_Her phone screen went blank, and Danielle sobbed loudly._

* * *

_Danielle had called the police and they put officers outside her house for 4 weeks after Mason had raped her. Without any sign of him after a month, they dismissed the coppers._

_He got her again on her way home from school… twice._

_And then on the way to the shops._

_And on the way to her friends._

_Danielle went home after 5th time of being raped and tried to kill herself. She took pills and her friend found her asleep next to the empty pill bottle. Danielle had been put on an IV drip. It turned out she wouldn’t have died: she’d only taken out of date early teenager gummy vitamins._

_Danielle then slit her wrists, but her Aunt found her before she could cut her left wrist. Danielle was sent away to a rehab centre for 3 months. As soon as she came back, she tried to throw herself in front of a car._

_Danielle just wanted to be free. The rumours that were spread about her made her sick._

_“She was wearing provocative clothes,”_

_“She asked for it,"_

_“She begged for it,"_

_“Apparently, she_ _raped_ him _…"_

_“I heard she had her drink roofied and drank it,"_

_“I heard she was a druggie and enjoyed it, but then he broke up with her, so she spread rumours that he raped her,"_

_The guy who was driving the car had slammed on his breaks and swerved to the left, away from her. Danielle was taken to the police station, who took her to the hospital on suicidal intentions and suspected drug abuse._

_She was suicidal_ _, but wasn’t a druggie. The hospital ran a blood check before they could give her any meds, just in case she had medical conditions that prevented her from having the proper medicines she needed._

_“Miss Wilder?” A nurse asked as she entered. Danielle’s Aunt pulled her hand away and smiled. “I’ll be waiting outside, ok, Asti?” Danielle nodded, but missed the comfort of a nice hand, with nice intentions._

_“Hi, my name is Sarah Johnson. I’ll be your nurse for the time being.” Danielle didn’t say anything. “Ok, well, we ran a blood test and everything came back ok. You have no existing medical conditions, or any STD’s.” Danielle let herself look at the nurse. “However, and I presume you know, but I’d just like to confirm it, you cannot have any antidepressants or anxiety pills.” Danielle frowned slightly, “Why?” She asked._

_Danielle was shocked at how raw her voice sounded._

_“Oh, do you not know? You’re approximately 22 weeks pregnant,” Danielle’s whole world went white and crashed. “Miss Wilder? Can you hear me?” Sarah asked, tapping her hand. Danielle couldn’t bring herself to say anything._

_Her world was ending._

_She was nearly 6 months pregnant. With her rapists baby._

_She had no job._

_Danielle’s mum could afford the both of them without any super nice luxuries, there’s no way her mum would be able to pay for another human as well, much less a baby!_

_“Check again, there’s no way I’m pregnant… I_ _can’t_ _be pregnant…” Danielle insisted. Sarah frowned sympathetically. “Guessing entirely based on your reaction here, Miss Wilder, I’m going to presume this is from your attack on your birthday?” Danielle found herself nodding. “Would you like me to notify the police?” Sarah asked._

_Danielle shook her head. “There’s no point, I already did. They helped for about a month, then he came back.” Sarah sighed heavily. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this on the job, but, if you don’t want to raise the baby, may I suggest adoption? My friend has been looking to adopt for a while now. Maybe I could suggest you to her?” Danielle didn’t say anything._

_Her mind was desperately trying to catch up with her ears. “Uh, I’ll need to think about it…” Sarah smiled sadly. “I also know a female therapist, if you want to speak with her.” When Danielle didn’t answer, Sarah grabbed her hand and squeezed it slightly. “Suicide… isn’t the way out… there’s better ways to manage it.”_

_Danielle found herself nodding quietly._

* * *

* * *

I finished my tragic tale just as we approached the outskirts of Tennessee. “Fuck me, Dani… I didn’t know it was _that_ bad!” Nicola said. She slowed the speed down to 30MPH as we came into a small town. “Yeah… on the bright side, I still see my baby sometimes.” I replied, getting out my purse. “What did you have?” Nicki asked. I found myself smiling. “I had a beautiful baby girl. The couple I gave her to named her Emily Astrid Simons. I insisted they don’t use my name as her middle name, but they insisted that they honour me in some way. We agreed an open adoption. I receive photos every month and I visit on birthdays, Easters and Christmases.” Nicki pulled into the motel we were booked at to have dinner in. I handed her one of my purses, that was solely dedicated to pictures of Emily. Nicki cooed as she looked at them all. “God, she’s _beautiful_ , Dani! Her hair is so blonde!” I found myself grinning. “She is beautiful.” I agreed.

Nicki flipped to the photo at the back, which was us [in a nice picture](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3f/42/4e/3f424e31a0858f82ff6f8a191043013c.jpg) for her first birthday. I handed her the one I kept in my actual purse, the one of when she was [only a few days](https://c.stocksy.com/a/nhh600/z9/1597975.jpg) old. “Do you ever regret giving her up for adoption?” Nicki asked. “No… I don’t.” I replied. “I know she’s living her best life, with parents that can afford to make the time for her. I visit as often as I can in between living here and working with the FBI. It’s nice as well, because the couple found out they were expecting themselves when Emily was about 2 months old. This was them [last week](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/af/71/04/af710493ef0b07b0cb1879d2e8ae2149.jpg).” Nicki cooed again. “I’m coming with you when you see her next time!” I laughed. 

“Sure, ok."


	4. ~4: Teal hair.

Nicola managed to drive to her brothers with no further hassles, and I got to New Orleans in just under 3 hours, which was nice. The Mardi Gras crowd hadn’t yet arrived (bear in mind it was only like 4am) so I managed to drive to the apartment I was staying at with no problem. The apartment wasn’t anything special: it had 1 bedroom, 1 small bathroom, a small kitchenette, and a living area. The sofa folded out to a pull-out-bed, so if Dylan had to stay with me, he could sleep on that.

I walked into the apartment (after spending like an hour trying to find the key, which was hidden in the letterbox) and immediately went for a bath. Obviously I put my stuff in my bedroom first, but I went straight for a long soak in the bath. I leant over the side of the bathtub and checked my phone for any emails or missed calls. I had 1 from my mum, 2 from Dylan, 1 from Jack and 1 from Matthew. I decided to ring my mum back first. It was odd that she’d rang me, it was only 5am there. She’d rang me about 3 hours ago...

The dial tone rang for a while before my mum answered. _“Hello?”_ Her groggy voice rang through. “Hey mum!” I said. _“Hey baby! Are you in New Orleans?”_ She asked. She sounded more awake now. “Hey, yeah I am. I got into my apartment about 15 minutes ago. It’s nothing special, but it’ll do.” I replied, swishing around the bubbles. _“Ok, great. I only rang to make sure you got there safely. I imagine it’s quite early. I know its 5am here, aren’t you an hour or two behind us?”_ I briefly pulled the phone away to check the time. “An hour, and yeah. I’m gonna go to bed after my bath.” I could practically _hear_ my mum’s smiling voice. _“Ok, baby. Ring me before you go to bed, would you?”_ I promised I would and hung up, saying our goodbyes. My conversation was similar with Matthew: he just wanted to know I’d gotten here ok.

Then I rang Dylan. _“Wilder, what the hell are you doing ringing me at 5 in the goddam morning?”_

“It’s nice to hear from you too Dylan.” I sarcastically replied. _“Get on with it, I have to get a flight at 9.”_ I rolled my eyes. “So you aren’t a morning person, got it. No need to be an arse about it.” I could hear Dylan sigh on the other end. _“I’m sorry. Happy?”_ I grinned. “Ecstatic.” Dylan sighed again. “I don’t know, I had 2 missed calls off of you. That’s why I rang,” I said. _“Yeah, it was asking where the hell you were. You never came back to headquarters.”_

“I drove up here. Don’t you remember me telling you?” I asked. I put the phone on speaker and began washing my legs with some body soap I brought. _“Oh… right. Well, I’m gonna presume you’re there now?”_

 __“Yeah. When are you gonna get here?” I asked. _“I don’t know. My flight’s due to leave at 8 your time, so I’ll land at 11 I think.”_

“Ok. Where abouts you staying?” I asked. _“I don’t know… I’ll probably just get a hotel room for the night.”_ Dylan dismissed. “Sure, if you want to visit in 4 weeks… everything’s booked to the max cus of Mardi Gras.” I could _hear_ Dylan’s ears whistling. _“Those sneaky bastards… the answer is, I don’t know then.”_ I chuckled. _“What’s so funny, Wilder? Please, I’d love a joke.”_ Dylan’s irritated voice rang through. “You’re so easy to piss off, you know that?” I teased. 

Dylan stayed quiet.

“My friend has let me stay in her apartment for the weekend. She’s away in Vegas for her 1 year anniversary. You can stay here. I’ll text you the address.” I said. I couldn’t help but feel jealous of Sandy. She’d met her fiancé at the same time I met Mason. Except her fiancé didn’t rape her or cause her so much mental trauma, she tried to kill herself.

 _“Thanks Wilder. I’ll be there by 12. Have a good night.”_ Dylan said before he hung up. I unplugged the bath and stood under the shower to wash my hair while I thought about ringing Jack back.

Sure, he was my brother and really, I should call him back… but talking about Mason brought back unpleasant feelings. I was so _angry_ at Jack for not answering the phone, or even bothering to call back. Sure, I’d gotten over it after about a year… but talking about it again made me feel really hurt and betrayed.

I decided I’d call him once I’d washed my hair. It got me thinking though… sexual assault awareness month was April, and I’d missed it because I spent the whole month with Emily. I didn’t want her asking questions she didn’t need to know.

I’d bought some teal hair dye back in April, ready to dye my hair in representation of the movement. I turned the shower off and had a rummage through my bag.

I gasped in success as I found a bottle of teal hair dye.

Fuck being professional for the FBI. I decided to dye my [hair teal](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/da/db/4b/dadb4b707921793fe737de2b3907e477.jpg). It was one thing just being a victim of the assault, but I also wanted to let other people know that it was ok to be vocal about past trauma, and to be proud that you’d survived it.

After I’d successfully dyed my hair, I called Jack back. 

While I was waiting for him to answer the phone (no change in the last 3 years then?) I did myself some toast. I saw everything was freshly stacked and I made a mental note to ring Sandy to thank her later on.

 _“Hello?”_ Jack’s voice rang through. “Heyo, Jackie boy. You rang?” I replied, taking a bite of my toast. _“Did I?”_ He asked. I rolled my eyes. “Have the last 6 years made you develop a memory problem?” I snarked. I couldn’t help it: I still felt pissed off with him. _“Whatever. I don’t know… I presume you’re in New Orleans?”_ He asked. “No, I’m in Timbuktu.” I replied. _“Ha ha. Very funny, ever considered a career in the comedy business?”_ He snarked. “Nah, I couldn’t take the spotlight away from you.” I replied, hoping he’d fall into the insult trap. _“Aw, you think I’m funny?"_

Like a bee to pollen.

“Well, we can’t have two comedians in the family: you’ve already covered the looks department.” I replied. I put the plate that I’d eaten my toast on in the sink. I’d clear it up later. _“Fuck you,”_ was Jack’s eloquent response. 

_“Who’re you on the phone to, Jack?”_ A new voice sounded from the background. It sounded like Atlas. _“My sister,”_ He replied. There was a quick scuffling of feet before an annoyed: _“The cop?! She can track your phone, dumbass!”_ I was about to have a go at him, but the call cut out. I rolled my eyes. He’s such an arrogant tosser.

I walked into my bedroom and got out my charger. I plugged my phone in, changed into my PJ’s and went to sleep, comfy for the first time in hours.

* * *

I woke up the later that morning and was instantly greeted with the gorgeous smell of the Mardi Gras food. I quickly checked my pillow to see if my hair dye had leaked overnight, and found that it had a little, but not too much. I’ll leave some money for Sandy to buy a new pillow case. I rolled over onto my side and checked my phone. I had no new calls besides a few from Dylan. 

I had a check of the time and realised why he’d called me. I decided to call him back, preparing myself for a berating. Dylan was supposed to get to mine by 12, and it was now 2...

 _“I have been waiting… for 2 hours. Where. The. Hell. Are. You?”_ Dylan didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “Hey… Dylan…” I spoke, biting my finger nail. _“Where… are… you?”_ I could hear Dylan was just about holding his temper in. “At the apartment…” I replied. I put Dylan on speaker as I fumbled around, trying to find clothes to wear. _“Um, no you aren’t._ I’m _at the apartment.”_ I frowned. “Uh, no you aren’t. I’m currently putting my socks on in my bedroom… you _are_ at the right place, yes?” I asked. I could hear some shuffling in the background.

Dylan cursed profusely. _“I’m at the wrong fucking apartment.”_ I bit back my laughter, knowing if I laughed, Dylan would probably reach through the phone to strangle me. “Where are you then? I roughly know my way here.” 

Dylan told me where he was, and, it turns out, he was only up the street. “Oh ok, just walk down until you reach me. You’ll see me.” I directed, smirking. It wouldn’t be hard to spot a girl with bright teal hair. _“Ok. I’ll be there in 5."_

~

I could see Dylan walking down the street and waved my arm so he could see me. I could see him frown deeply before he charged the rest of the way over.

Dylan unceremoniously dropped his bags on the floor and gestured wildly to my hair. “What the hell is that?” He asked. I frowned slightly and put my hands in my pockets. “My hair?” I asked, confused. “I know that, Sherlock. I _meant_ what have you done to it? The FBI only allow natural hair colours.” A burst of anger ran through my veins, strongly. 

Now, it could have been the fact that my hormones were all up, or it could have been that I was on my period, or it even could have been that I was tired. But I glared fiercely. “Fuck the FBI hair code.” I snapped. Dylan looked taken aback for a split second before he glared back, just as fiercely. I spoke before he could though.

“Look up what the teal ribbon represents. Then you’ll understand.” 

And I stormed into the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

* * *

By the time I was ready for the evening’s performance, and, undoubtedly chase after the horsemen, Dylan had profusely apologised. 

_“I’m guessing you don’t have ovarian cancer or Tourettes?” Dylan had asked, completely out of the blue. I stopped for a minute, confused. “No?” I answered. “Or anxiety?” He continued. I paused. “I do now, but that’s not what teal means to me.” I answered gently. I knew he knew why I dyed my hair. Dylan suddenly came up to me and pulled me into a rough hug._

_“No one deserves to be raped, Danielle. Not even the worst people deserve it,” He said quietly. I didn’t say anything. Honestly, I enjoyed the attention. It was somewhat similar to brotherly love: something I didn’t received when I was raped… or when I had Emily._

_Dylan pulled away just as roughly and turned away. Just before he left the room (presumably to get ready for the evening) he spoke over his shoulder._

_“Teal suits you,” He said and left._

I felt strangely warm and happy. I strapped up my wedges and winged my eyeliner before stuffing my purse into my clutch bag with my phone and a few tampons. 

You could never be sure.

“Dylan! Are you ready?!” I called after 10 minutes. “Why? We aren’t due to leave for another 30 minutes!” He called back. “I want to see Jack before he goes on!” I yelled back. 

Dylan’s freshly showered face popped out of the bathroom door, a glare plastered on it. This man either always had a glare on his face, or a frown. “Why? He’s an interstate criminal.” He pointed out. I rolled my eyes, “I know that, I’m on the case as well.” I snarked. Dylan rolled his eyes. “But he’s my brother, and I want to speak to him before he goes on.” I answered. 

“It’s against my better judgement, but I can’t stop you. Not unless I tie you to a chair… but I worry you’d break free and kill me in my sleep.” He joked. I smirked. “No, that’d be too kind.” I replied, grinning like a shark. Dylan rolled his eyes, playfully this time. “Whatever. I’ll be at the Savoy in about 30 minutes."

* * *

I wandered into the theatre, ignoring the stares of others, and walked up to the backstage area. “Whoa, ma’am. You can’t go through here, employees and performers only.” The bodyguard said, putting a hand in front of my chest. I pulled out my FBI badge and smiled sweetly. “Agent Wilder, sir. I do believe I have clearance to pass through.” I gently commanded. The bodyguard picked up my badge and looked at it carefully, obviously trying to find any source of fake ness. “My apologies, ma’am.” He apologised. I tutted and waved my hand as I put my badge back in my bag. “ _Never_ apologise for doing your job, sir. Have a good night and enjoy the Mardi Gras festivities."

~

I walked through the hallways, ignoring the roadies and technicians as I tried to navigate my way to the dressing rooms. I gave up after wandering aimlessly for 5 minutes. I cleared my throat near a lady who was talking into her talkie. “Hi, sorry, excuse me… do you know where I’ll find Henley Reeves?” I asked. The lady raised her eyebrows just as I pulled out my badge. 

If I asked about Jack, they’d know I wasn’t here on official business. The lady’s eyes widened. “Oh, she's just down the hall in room 3.4… I can call her out individually, if you would prefer?” I shook my head, “No, it’s ok. If I can catch all of them to chat with, that’d be great. Thank you,"

The lady bustled off, yelling into her talkie again as I made my way down to 3.4.

I gently knocked on the door and the talking that was happening inside hushed almost straight away. I could hear muttering and I rolled my eyes. “Knock, knock, Jackie-boo.” I called through. I could only hear 2, maybe 3, voices inside. Defiantly Jack and Henley’s… and I think the other might be that mentalist… Merritt?

The door opened slightly. “What do you want, Danielle? I’m busy getting ready for a show…” Jack called. “For fucks sake, Jack. Open the door. I just want to talk to you before you go on.” I replied, getting steadily more annoyed. “The other cop with you?” He asked. “No, and I’m temporally off duty while I talk to you, if that makes you feel better.” I said, monotone. I was seriously pissed off now. Damn hormones. 

The door opened wider this time, letting me into the room. It wasn’t anything special, just a few lounge chairs, a vanity table and some papers scattered around. “Whoa, why’s your hair blue!?” Jack asked. I ignored him as I smiled at the other two occupants of the room before I took a seat. They all stared at me. “Are we doing a staring contest? Jack and I used to do them all the time.” I grinned. They continued to stare at me before the mentalist chuckled. “Not that I don’t appreciate a good looking lady in here, besides our lovely Henley of course, but I’d get out before Atlas gets back. He’ll kill us all.” Merritt said, sitting down next to me. “I think I can take Atlas… I grew up in a neighbourhood where it was kill or be killed.” I replied, smiling. I grabbed my packet of mints out, not knowing my purse had dropped. I offered one to each of the occupants. Merritt and Henley took one, thanking me.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and shut, almost in record time. “Come on guys, we need to rehearse one more time. Get up, let’s get going!” Atlas commanded as he strolled through. Everyone groaned and I laughed. Atlas whipped around to glare at me. “God, you’re _even more_ pretentious in real life! Wow, what an accomplishment!” I sarcastically complimented. 

He glared fiercely at me. “What is _she_ doing here?” He seethed, turning to Jack. “She wanted to speak to me! Calm down man.” Jack replied. I lazily ate another mint. “And?! She’s with the FBI! I _told_ you about the phone, _JACK!_ What makes you think she won’t arrest us right now?” Atlas bitched. “Cus I enjoy chasing the animal before I kill it.” I replied, smirking. Atlas stormed towards me. I lazily put the packet of mints in my bag again. He raised his arm (not to hit me, but to rant, I later found out) and I was thrown back to _that night_ 3 years ago.

I kicked my foot out, and tripped Atlas over. I pressed his chest into the small sofa I was sat on and pressed my arm across his neck. Henley and Merritt jumped up, watching me carefully. Jack didn’t do anything. “I won’t hesitate to break your nose and mess up your pretty face if you do that again… are we clear?” I threatened, pressing my knee into his spine. “Ow! Ok! Ok! Jesus! Get off!” I dug my knee in harder just once, and got off of him. 

I brushed my dress down. 

“Well, it was _lovely_ to meet you all… even if one of you was an asshole, but I must get going. I did come to wish you all good luck. I’ll be seeing you after the show, I presume."

I got up, picked up my bag and left. I walked out and shut the door, humming gently to myself. Suddenly, I could hear someone shouting my name. I turned around and saw Henley running towards me with my purse. “You nearly left this behind,” She said, panting slightly. I thanked her profusely, knowing a photo of Emily and I was in there. Just before I left, Henley spoke again. 

“Just so you know… I’m sorry,” She said. I frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked. She gently tugged a piece of teal hair. “I know what teal means,” Was all she said. I looked away, feeling… ashamed? I shouldn’t be feeling like it, but I did. By the time I looked up again, Henley was gone.

And I was alone again.


	5. ~5: “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?"

SUPER LONG ONE!!!

* * *

**Mason >**

After my… interesting… visit to the Horsemen, I decided to walk to mine and Dylan’s seats. He was due to walk in any moment and I figured instead of him trying to find me in the busy theatre, I’d just wait in the seats. The seats weren’t anything special. They were quite a way back from the stage, but I suspect I know the reason. Why have two FBI agents right at your feet, when you can watch them from a controlled distance? It’s what I’d do if I was a criminal.

Our seats were just your average, run-of-the-mill chairs. Mine squeaked a bit, so I swapped it to Dylans. He can be the one to piss people off… my social anxiety ramped up at even the thought of having to speak to people I don’t know… I know, I know. If someone has social anxiety, _why_ work for the FBI? Truth is, I don’t know either. I guess when I’m in the lead, I don’t feel anxious anymore? Like, they aren’t gonna know if I fuck up, they’re just gonna think it’s part of the act, thus not having to explain myself if I mess up.

I don’t think in a normal way, people. Don’t judge me.

Anyway, while I was waiting for Dylan, I began thinking about my brief, but emotional interaction with Henley. I don’t know _how_ she knew about the teal ribbon, but I’m not sure I wanted to find out. Sure, the teal ribbon stands for things other than sexual assault. For example, it also stands for ovarian cancer, Tourettes and anxiety. Henley didn’t strike me as the type of girl to have Tourettes. If she did, I sincerely doubt she’d be able to perform as effortlessly as she does. She might have anxiety, but again… performing. 

I pray to God she doesn’t have ovarian cancer… or that she’s ever been sexually assaulted. 

Dylan arrived near enough 5 minutes later, looking annoyed as per usual. He grumbled as he sat in his chair. It creaked loudly. I raised an eyebrow and turned to him. “What’s crawled up your ass and died in the last half an hour?” I teased. Dylan didn’t take the bait. “Goddam security guard. He wanted my ticket, and it was back at the apartment. So I had to go all the way back and queue again.” Dylan ranted. I frowned. “I hate to break it to you, Dylan… but it’s kind of his job to ask for tickets.” I pointed out. Dylan glared at me, but it had no real heat behind it. 

I hope he doesn’t treat me differently now he knows about Mason.

* * *

The lights dimmed after about 5 minutes of weird silence between Dylan and I. Dylan was looking around the theatre, almost as if he was searching for someone. I looked over my shoulders to see if I could see anyone from the FBI spying, but I couldn’t. I frowned and turned back to the stage, waiting to hear anything to do with the show. _“Ladies and gentlemen, the Savoy management welcomes you to tonights special performance, the Four Horsemen: Act two. Unlike traditional performances, the Four Horsemen encourage you to film, call your friends, upload, stream and tweet about the show freely. Thank you. The show will begin in a few minutes.”_ A male voice spoke through the speakers. The excitement of the audience was almost contagious.

I caught Dylan looking around the theatre again and I sighed angrily. “ _What_ are you looking for? Your constant moving in that goddam chair is driving me up the walls.” I snapped. Dylan frowned at me for a moment, then settled into his trademark glare. “Why does it bother you?” He snarked back. “Because, Agent Rhodes, you seem to forget that I, too, am on this case with you. It would do you well to include me in your little secret plans.” I replied, curling my lip slightly. 

Dylan’s eyes widened slightly but otherwise he did nothing. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stage, which was blanketed in darkness, save 4 golden square things on the stage floor.

 _“Arthur Tressler presents Jack Wilder, Henley Reeves, Merritt McKinney and Daniel Atlas. The Four Horsemen.”_ The same voice spoke through the speakers again. With each name announced, a spotlight shone down on them. The crowd stood up and roared with cheers and excitement. The crowd was so lively, I found myself smiling slightly at the happy energy in the room.

“What is magic?” Daniel Atlas began, walking around the stage. The audience quietened down, hanging onto every word he said. “Our argument?” He paused slightly and smirked at my brother. I caught Jack looking up to the area I was in. I didn’t do anything.

"Nothing but targeted deception…. So I want you to look. Look as closely as possible.” Atlas continued, walking near Henley and smiling as he spoke. God, how much I’d pay to have someone look at me like that again.

"The tricks you are about to see may not seem connected, but we assure you they are.” Henley, Merritt and Jack walked backwards to the back of the stage, not turning their backs on the audience. “Is what follows 100 different tricks?” Atlas spoke, walking backwards to the others. "Or is it one giant illusion?” Lights flashed onto the stage in an almost dizzying way, then the stage went black.

The lights turned back on… but the Horsemen weren’t there.

* * *

The first trick was a classic “make the bunny disappear in a box” trick. Every kid loved it, and so did most adults. No one knew quite how it was done, but there were many theories across the Internet. I’d read a few myself, almost choking on my tea at how utterly ridiculous they were. One of my personal favourites is: there is a button on the back of the box that opens a flap underneath and puts the rabbit down a small tube. Then they press another button and a small platform lifts up to reveal the rabbit again.

See? Ludicrous. 

Anyway, Henley and Daniel walked out onto the stage with the former holding a beautiful white rabbit. I almost cooed, but quickly remembered that I was on a job right now… that and the fact, Dylan would probably strangle me if I did. “Here, we have our beautiful fluffy,” Henley paused to allow the audience to coo. "Daniel, can you show the audience that the box, is in fact, empty?” She continued. Atlas opened the box up to show that it was empty.

Henley then gently put the bunny into the box. “And now we shall make her disappear.” Atlas closed the lid on the box. “Danny, can you say the magic words please?” Henley asked. I watched super closely now… the inner child in me wanted to know how it was done. “Abracadabra,” Henley spoke, smiling to Atlas. He then pulled out a wand and began waving it around. “And I’ll wave this wand around for no reason at all,” he threw the wand behind him and some of the audience laughed. 

Henley opened up the box to show that Fluffy was, indeed, gone. The audience gasped and I had to refrain myself from rolling my eyes. Like… some on people. You’re… what…. 20’s… 30’s? You should not genuinely be amused by something like this. “Now, we’re gonna debunk a few magic myths ourselves this evening.” I caught Atlas nod at someone, almost smuggly. I missed who it was, but I suspect it was a magic debunker.

We didn’t have those in the UK… mind you, we didn’t have many magicians in the UK…

Henley reached down into the box again, but this time she pulls Fluffy out as well. “See, we can all see that Fluffy is alive and well, but this mirror,” Atlas pulls a mirror out of the box, “made it appear as though it was empty.” The lights went dark again and the audience roared with excitement… I may have even clapped a little.

* * *

The next trick, personally, wasn’t as good. Merritt had sauntered onto the stage, looking mighty smug. He goes: “I will need 12 courageous volunteers.” He called out. The whole room erupted into cheers, begging him to choose them. I caught him watching me, and thought that he’d choose me… but luckily, he chose the person just in front of me. 11 other people also got pulled up.

The audience went quiet as Merritt began talking to the 12 volunteers. “If you haven’t experience mass hypnosis, then you’re about to.” He warns. I scoff quietly. As if people just experience hypnosis on the daily. He begins tapping or gently shaking each person’s shoulders, while looking them in the eye. “Sleep, sleep, sleep, good, sleep, sleep, sleep, good, good, down, down, sleep!” Every single person whom he touched slouched, but remained standing… presumably asleep. 

“When you wake up, you are all football players.” Merritt said, addressing the 12 volunteers. The crowd chuckled. “You will tackle, dismantle, crush, tear limb form limb the quarterback.” The audience paid close attention, and I listened in as well. He was being oddly specific… there had to be another motive behind all of this… I just didn’t know it yet. “You will know who the quarterback is… he will be the one to say “freeze.” Ok?” I frowned deeply. This was very clearly aimed at a law enforcement figure. Probably me or Dylan. Who else would shoulder freeze? 

I tuned back into Merritt waking the 12 people up and their hands in the middle. “1, 2, 3… Kill the quarterback!” They chanted. The crowd whistled in amazement. Merritt sent them off back to their seats with a smirk on his features. “I have a feeling I’m gonna be seeing you all again very soon!” 

And I swear to you, he grinned at me.

* * *

Next up was Jack. I thought his trick was too short to be considered fair, and a little part of me protested at the blatant display of favouritism. Henley and Atlas’s (I should really start calling him by his first name) performance was by far the longest, followed by Merritt’s. Anyway, he begins showing people some cool card tricks. Like flicking them around and making the audience choose a card and him guessing it right etc.

His next trick really intrigued me though. “Aight, there’s 2 pencils out there. Hold em up, show em to me!” He commanded, shuffling his cards as he waits. A lady just two seats to my left stood up, shouting that she had one. A man about 6 rows down and 7 seats to my right also stood up.

Jack then narrowed his eyes at the two people and flicked a card at the lady. The card (which I later found out was Queen of Hearts) sliced through the air and cut the top of the pencil clean off. I found myself gasping with the audience. I caught Dylan leaning forward intently. Jack then flicked another card at the dude, but this time sliced the pencil in half. 

While I might not have seen him in person in the last 6 years, I still knew him very well. I could see the faint blush and genuine grin on his face as he performed the trick smoothly.

* * *

The final single trick of the evening was Henley in some bubbles. 

Yes, I am very well aware on how stupid that sounded, but it was the best description I could give. And I say single trick… it wasn’t, she was paired with Atlas again. They seemed to do a lot of tricks together. I vaguely remember watching a few televised performances at home a couple of years ago. I also remember the large-scale performances (like MGM Grande and other large venues) only contained Henley. I’d researched into it and found the she’d left Atlas, and both became solo acts. Henley ended up scoring big with her escaping (but mainly her provocative clothing and words) and quite often performed in large arenas. I presume Atlas went back to street performing. I saw one of his shows when I went to the States with Jack once.

God, I must have been about 14? Maybe 15? That would have made him 17 or 18.

But anyway, they’d obviously teamed back up again. This time including a mentalist and my brother. Atlas was creating bubbles with his hands. They expanded and expanded until they dropped from his hands and rose into the ceiling. The crowd, as expected, "ooo"ed and “aahh”ed. Atlas continued making the bubbles, each one getting bigger and wider. I watched his arm movements carefully. It looked like he had something in his sleeves; probably bubble machines.

But what really grabbed my interest was what Atlas and Henley did next.

Atlas made a particularly larger bubble, almost bigger enough for a person to fit in. Henley suddenly took a running start and jumped into the bubble. Atlas pulled back with the bubble, helping her get a better run into it. Henley rose up in the bubble, nearing the chandeliers dangling down from the ceiling. I, along with the audience, gaped at her as she spun and did some ballet-style in the bubble. 

I watched as her bubble edged closer and closer to the chandelier and panicked. If her bubble burst on the chandelier, then she’d fall and seriously hurt herself. I almost stood up and shouted for someone to get ready to catch her when the bubble popped. 

I gasped out loud with the audience as Henley shrieked. She fell down maybe 10 feet… right into Atlas’s awaiting arms. Even though I didn’t particularly like the man, at least he caught her. I cheered and whistled loudly as the audience clapped. Dylan glared at me but I narrowed my eyes at him and continued to clap.

I wasn’t even that close to them, but looking at their positions, I could see how much they loved each other. I wish I was looked at like that again.

* * *

The intermission, while it was only 30 minutes, felt like hours. I desperately wanted to go and talk to Jack again, but I didn’t want to disrupt any further plans they have. Instead, I decided to grab some crisps and a drink to have. I also went to the loo and I checked my phone. I had a few notifications from some fan pages that I follow and a couple of stories to check out on instagram, but nothing else.

By the time I walked back to my seat, the theatre was dark again with the mentalist on the stage.

“Now, during the intermission, you were asked to write down your current bank balance. Bring the envelopes out from underneath your chairs. Come on! Get em out!” I reached below my chair to see an envelop as promised, but something told me his trick wasn’t gonna work on me. I never wrote down my bank balance. So my envelope was blank. 

I looked around and found that everyone else had done the same, except they had obviously written their balances down, as they were staring at the mentalist intently. “Ok, everyone shout our your names!” The mentalist commanded. The theatre erupted in frantic yelling: some voices shrill as they begged for him to chose them, some just plain loud and some weren’t even speaking.

Preach sisters/misters. I have social anxiety as well.

Merritt held up his index finger in a shush gesture. “Josepha… Hickey?” He called, sounding unsure. A black lady stood up, looking very shocked. “Thats me!” She called. Merritt smiled and spoke again. “Names! Give me names!” He called. The voices shouted again. “Dina Robertson?” He called. A skinny white lady stood up. “Yeah!” She called. I think she was one of the quieter ones, so how he heard her made me think. This had to be planned. He clicked his fingers as the crowd began shouting for a third time. “Clement?” Merritt called. He paused and the crowd went quiet. “Frannick?” He finished. A black man stood up this time. He looked very nerdy. Not that I have anything against nerds, in fact, I think they’re the nicer people in the world.

“Ok, Josepha. I want you to count from 1 to 10 out loud.” He instructed. Josepha began counting. “Stop!” Merritt called at 5. “Again, but faster.” Josepha counted up until 6 this time. “Again!” He called again. Merritt stopped her at 2. “Josepha, is your bank balance $562 as of today?” He asked. Everyone turned to face her. “Yeah… that’s what I got,” She almost conceded. Josepha looked very annoyed that he’d guessed it right. Maybe she was embarrassed? $562 isn’t that much to have… thats like £430. “Unfortunately, you’re wrong.” Merritt continued. I frowned deeply: how could she be wrong about her bank balance?

Merritt then turned in Dina Robertson’s general direction. He frowned as he spoke: “1…4…7…7?” He asked. Dina chuckled, shocked. “Yeah,” She said. The crowd cheered, excited. “You too, are wrong,” He continued. The crowd began mumbling to themselves. Merritt then turned to Clement’s direction. “And you do not have $6500 in your account.” He said. “Actually, everyone. Take out your envelopes and put em to your forehead. Think of your bank balance. Come on!” He commanded. The theatre did it like clockwork, making me think. No one would be doing this willingly: they look like idiots. “Oh… oh dear… oh… oh, this is not good… not good at all!” Merritt exclaimed, putting his hands on his face, as though it physically pained him. 

Just before he spoke, Atlas and Henley walked onto the stage. A few (probably pervy men) whistled at her while Atlas whispered in Merritt’s ears, gesturing to Arthur Tressler in the small section at the top. “Oh yes! Ladies and gentlemen, we’d just like to give a round of applause to our beautiful benefactor: Arthur Tressler!” Merritt said, clapping towards the man in question. The audience clapped as well. “Actually Art, come on down here! We could use you for our final trick!” Atlas spoke… there was something in his voice that put me on alert. Apparently Dylan heard it as well because he leaned forward and spoke into his talkie. “Is everyone on red alert?” He spoke. Someones voice came back, crackly and just about audible. “Don’t let anyone leave this theatre,” Dylan commanded, leaning back into his chair. I glared at him. “What are you glaring at me for, Wilder?” He snapped. “Why do you get a talkie, and I don’t!?” I hissed. 

Dylan ignored me.

Arthur Tressler came onto the stage, looking very proud of himself. I rolled my eyes: he was almost as arrogant as Atlas. Merritt put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the middle of the stage. “Now, Art… I’m gonna presume you didn’t write down your balance?” He asked. Tressler gently shook his head, a brief look of worry gracing his features. “Now don’t worry: we did it for you.” Merritt continued. My brother walked out onto the stage, holding a very large envelope. He passed it to Atlas, who held it with Henley, then left again.

I watched carefully: they were gonna do something. Merritt’s voice and Atlas’s faces spoke volumes to someone who wasn’t even in the FBI. “Your bank balance is just north of 140, correct?” Merritt asked. Tressler nodded. Merritt then turned to the audience. “That’s 140 million, by the way, ladies and gents.” The crowd mumbled to themselves as they realised how poor they were. Henley pulled out a large check from the envelope and held it up to the crowd. I couldn’t really see well, but I think it read $144,579,651. God damn. “See, but you _too_ are wrong.” Merritt tusked. I frowned: how can he be wrong about his bank balance? It’s not hard to get that much money wrong, is it?

“Ok, everybody! Get out your flashlights. Come on… get ‘em out.” I saw an abundance of phone lights and keychain lights appear throughout the theatre. It was almost like when artists sing that one sad or gentle song, and everyone is waving their phones to the beat. “Ok, now I want you to wave the torches over your envelope. And… don’t worry Art. We have a special torch for you.” Merritt said. I snorted outloud when I saw Jack carrying a massive torch. 

He turned it on, blinding Atlas and about half the room, and shone it on the envelope. The audience began muttering as the envelopes presumably do something new. “What’s going on there, Daniel?” Merritt suddenly asked. “This is weird… a minute ago it said $144,579,651 but now… now it says $70,000 less…” Atlas said, confused. “Now… Josepha… can you stand up?” Merritt asked. “Yes!” Josepha said before he even finished. I watched carefully. Something was telling me that this wasn’t just a trick. “Now… what is your new number?” Merritt asked, pointing to her. A spotlight shone down on her seat. “$70,562 is now in my account!” She called, very happy. The audience cheered and whistled. I turned to Dylan, frowning. “How can they possibly know that its true? Just cus it says it on a piece of paper?” I whispered. Dylan snorted softly. “I don’t know.” He replied.

“Is it possible,” Henley began, drawing the attention back to the stage. “That Josepha’s balance went up the _exact same amount_ that Art’s went down?” The audience mumbled amongst themselves. “Hey, check it out!” Jack called. I watched the cheque carefully. “It’s happening again!” The audience talked amount themselves. Probably trying to work out how it was done. I saw the number change… and no matter how hard I looked, I could not see how much it changed by. “Wow… it is!” Henley spoke. “Art’s balance has gone down another $280k!” She yelled. “Dina Robertson?” Merritt called. The lady in question shot up. “What does yours say?” He asked. “$281,477!” She called, astonished. The crowd cheered and whistled. 

I found my self joining and whistling in with them. I caught Dylan glare at me, but I ignored him. “We have a confession to make,” Henley addressed the audience. The crowd went silence almost immediately. “Right, we lied about something,” Jack put in. He walked around the stage, confidently. I felt a pang of guilt surge through my body. If he’d continued visiting me every 6 months, he wouldn’t be where he is now. “Yes, none of you were chosen at random.” Atlas put in, walking closer to Tressler. “All of you have one thing in common.” Merritt added. “Everyone in this room was a victim of the hard times that hit one of America’s most treasure cities.” Henley said. I could hear her voice breaking which made me think she had suffered in the disaster. I leant over to Dylan. “What hard time are they talking about?“ I whispered. Dylan never let his eyes leave the stage but leant closer to me, “Hurricane Katrina. It happened in 2005 and it was the 6th most damaging hurricane in the world. Did you not hear about it?” He explained. “No. I was only like 12. I didn’t really watch the news then.” I replied. Dylan exhaled, “It wasn’t nice.” Was all he said as we turned back to the stage.

“-but all of you were insured by the same company,” I tuned in to hear Atlas say. They all turned and pointed at Tressler. “Tressler insurance!” They yelled. I even saw Jack yelling at him. I don’t know why though, Jack’s from California. I don’t think the hurricane affected him as much as it probably did the others. Merritt was from Florida, Henley was from Pennsylvania and Atlas was from New York. I quickly grabbed my phone and had a look at how badly each area was affected. Jack could probably feel an earthquake kind of rumble, Merritt suffered electricity loss and flooding, Henley had to deal with four tornadoes and Atlas had the same as Merritt.

Damn.

“Whoa! Whoa! I’ve got $82,000 in my bank account! It says it right here on my cellphone! Everyone, check your bank accounts!” Some guy chirped up from the back. Suddenly everyone pulled out their phones, the devices beeping and chiming to alert them to the addition of money. I looked around me and saw a few people ringing their loved ones to tell them of the, probably, thousands placed into their bank accounts. “Is this for real?” Dylan yelled into the talkie. Someones voice crackled back. “Is this really happening!?” Dylan yelled. Something crackled back. I watched as the four horsemen circled Tressler like sharks, talking to him. They’d turned their mics off so no one could hear their conversations. Tressler lunged at Merritt, who simply patted his shoulder. _“We’ve got confirmation! It’s really happening! They’ve robbed him!”_ Someones voice crackled through. 

Dylan jumped up and began running down the side of the theatre to catch the horsemen. I ran up after him, struggling a little bit. I was in a body clinging dress and wedges. I couldn’t really move my legs quick enough. Suddenly a manic: “QUARTERBACK!!!” ran through the theatre loud and clear. The 12 people that Merritt hypnotised earlier chased after Dylan and tackled him on stage, _inches,_ away from the mentalist. I reached the stage just as they shot up into the ceiling, carried by wires. “We are the Four Horsemen! Good night!” I checked Dylan was ok, but realised he wasn’t getting out of it anytime soon. 

I ran after the Horsemen instead.

* * *

I followed them up onto a rooftop. My dress had ridden up to my knees which made it easier to chase after them now. I knew I should have worn my suit. Suddenly, they all went through the busy Mardi Gras crowd. “Fuck!” I yelled. I saw Atlas first, and pursued him. He glanced back with wide eyes then ran in between people. “Excuse me! FBI! Move please! Out the way!” I yelled, squeezing in between everyone. Most people shifted when I shouted FBI, but there were a few drunk people who just stumbled. I followed Atlas through an alley and watched as he jumped on a wheely-bin and pushed up onto the wall.

He’d pissed me off big time, so I pulled out my gun. “FREEZE!” I yelled. Atlas stopped moving and slowly turned around with his arms raised. I breathed heavily as I pointed it at his legs. You should never shoot with the intent to kill, only to disarm or incapacitate. Atlas smirked slightly and wiggled his fingers in a “goodbye” gesture. I pulled the trigger.

* * *

Atlas fell with a thud on the other side of the wall. I jumped up onto the bin and threw my leg over the wall, much like you do when you mount a horse. “You’ve shot me!” Atlas yelled. I rolled my eyes and jumped down the wall, landing gracefully on my feet. “Oh shut up, Atlas. It was a blank… I wouldn’t waste a bullet on you.” I snapped. Atlas glared at me with wide eyes. He tried to get up but cried out and fell back down. I could see him grabbing his ankle. I sighed and bent down to look at it. He flinched away. “Calm your tits. I’m not here to hurt you.” I snapped. 

I grabbed the damaged appendage gently in my fingers. I turned it about and gently poked around the already swollen area. “Looks sprained or broken. I can’t really tell.” I finally said. I rummaged around my small bag and found my shawl. “Can I wrap this around it? It won’t do much, but it’ll keep it in place enough for you to get help.” I asked. Atlas didn’t say anything. 

I wrapped it up. 

We stayed in silence for a while… maybe 10 minutes or so before something snapped. I stood up and positioned myself so I was in front of Atlas. I cocked my gun. I pointed it at the entry way of another alley. “Who’s there? Come out with your hands up and I won’t shoot!” I yelled. I could hear some scuffling and slight groans as Atlas pushed himself up off the floor to against the wall. “We both know you won’t do that,” A slimy voice came from the dark. “Wanna test me? I’m not having a good day,” I warned. I clicked the safety off. The sound echoed loudly. Someone walked out of the dark. “Well… aren’t _you_ a sight for sore eyes?” They said.

I squinted. They came out into the small area I was stood in. Suddenly, my heart plummeted and my anxiety ramped up to 100.

“Mason…” I gasped.


	6. ~6: Mason, Daniel and Jack.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW//: mentions of rape and suicide throughout.

“What are you doing here, Mason?” I hissed, desperately trying to keep my voice from trembling. I wouldn’t give this asshole the satisfaction on knowing what damage he did to me. Mason smirked and moved further into the dingy space I was in. He peered over my shoulder with a slight pout. But not a pout when you’re sad, more of a pout you get when you’re saying, “[good point](https://thumbs.gfycat.com/BossyValuableBlueandgoldmackaw-small.gif).” He nodded behind me. “Who’s that?” He asked. I could tell by his voice that he couldn’t give two shits. “None of your business, that’s who.” I sneered. “ _I_ already know who he is.” Mason stalked around me, much like a cat does to an injured bird. “Then why ask? Have you got a memory lag or something?” I snapped. Mason yanked my ponytail harshly, snapping my head back. I groaned in pain. “Ah… there was a time where you liked me doing that,” The _slime ball_ said. I didn’t say anything. 

Mason moved onto Atlas behind me. I whipped around with my gun poised to shoot. I still didn’t have any bullets in it, but I would _gladly_ shoot this asshole. Innocent, unarmed, whatever. He caused me far too much pain and misery. “J. Daniel Atlas… the _showman_ ,” Mason spoke. His voice was silky, much like a villain in a Disney movie. “And you are?” Atlas asked. I could hear the pain in his voice. “Hmm…” Was all Mason gave as an answer before turning back to me. “Why are you here Mason? I have a restraining order against you.” I asked. I kept my gun trained on his chest. There was always a super slim chance that you’d survive a bullet to the head. Bullet to the heart? A lot harder to survive. Even if he did, I’d blow his brains out. There’s no way he’d survive that.

“Ah yes… that was an inconvenience.” Mason answered my question. “No matter though… it ran out… oooh, lets’ see, shall we?” Mason pulled his jacket sleeve up and checked his watch. Mason grinned at me like a shark. “Yesterday,” He spoke, victoriously. “How did you know I was in New Orleans?” I asked. “Really, I’m insulted you think my intelligence so low!” Mason exclaimed, circling Atlas and I like a predator. “All you have to do is watch the news, my darling Astrid. British FBI agent on the new magicians case? It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.” Mason spoke. “You don’t have the right to call me Astrid. That is reserved for family only.” I seethed. Mason put a hand on his chest. “I’m not family?” He asked, hurt. I glared at him fiercely. “Oooh… still that firery temper I see?” He goaded. “You lost the title of family after you raped me 5 times.” I hissed. “Now leave. I _will not_ hesitate to shoot you.” I warned. “Oh my dear. We had sex more than 5 times.” He said, grinning like a psycho. “I know.” I replied. “I consented to 5 other times.”

Mason’s grin never faltered. “Oh… perhaps I was wrong. Let me rephrase that: we had sex more than 10 times.” My eyes widened. “How?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “You were best when you slept. No protest that way.” I felt physically sick. “You… you raped me… while I slept?” I stuttered out. “Hardly rape. You made noises and movements occasionally.” Mason scoffed. “How didn’t I wake up?” I almost didn’t want to know the answer. Mason didn’t say anything.

I felt realisation crash down on me like a very cold and brutal wave. “You drugged me,” I whispered. “Sometimes it pays to have your father as a drug dealer.” He sneered. I felt like crying. “How many times?” I asked. Fuck keeping my voice level, I wanted the bastard dead. “Twice a week… maybe more. It honestly depended on my mood,” Mason replied. I grabbed a bullet out of my bag and put it into the gun. “Do you just keep bullets in your purse?” Atlas piped up. I jumped. I’d completely forgotten he was there. “Only for the absolute bastards that need it.” I aimed the gun at Mason’s chest. I’d shoot his knees and _really_ make him hurt. But I needed him to think I was gonna shoot him in the heart.

“Why didn’t I end up pregnant then?” I asked. Mason tusked. “For a lady in the FBI, you aren’t very switched on.” He taunted. “Well, that happens when your abuser comes back. Answer the question.” I snapped. “I think it’s called birth control? They were very easy to slip into your tea. They dissolved almost instantly.” Mason answered. It sickened me that he actually sounded proud. “I hate you.” I seethed. I pulled the trigger and shot Mason in his left knee. He fell down with a shriek of pain. I could see the blood leaking out of the wound. “Why did you shoot me!?” He yelled in pain. I threw my gun at his head, successfully hitting him in the temple. It cracked with a very satisfying noise, then skittered off into the darkness. “You ruined my life!!” I screamed. I stalked towards him, menacingly. “I tried to kill myself 3 times, Mason! 3 FUCKING TIMES!!” I screeched. Mason looked up at me. For the first time in my time of knowing him, I saw absolute _fear_ in his eyes.

And it scared me how good it felt.

“I tried to overdose, I tried to slit my wrists, hell, I even tried to jump in front of a car and throw myself down the stairs BECAUSE OF YOU!” I yelled, listing my attempts. “I HAD TO ENDURE A LONELY PREGNANCY AND A 35 HOUR LABOUR GIVING BIRTH TO YOUR DAUGHTER!! AND I CAN’T HELP BUT DISLIKE HER SOMETIMES!!! ALL SHE DOES IS REMIND ME OF YOU! AND I HATE YOU FOR THAT!!” I shrieked. I’d finally reached my breaking point. I took deep breaths to try and rein my anger in. I could see people beginning to peer down the alley way. “She’s my pride and joy. But because of you, I can’t help but dislike her sometimes. I hate myself for that! She’s my daughter! I wish you’d fucking drop dead!” I sneered. Then he laughed.

The fucking wanker laughed.

I saw read as I took quick steps over to him, ready to beat the shit out of him. But a set of arms around my waist stopped me. “Danielle! Danielle! This isn’t you!” A voice that sounded distinctly like Atlas yelled. I struggled in his grip. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me!” I yelled. I broke out of his grip and ran over to Mason. I straddled his stomach and punched his face. I could feel the blood on my fingers and I could feel the broken bones in his face. 

Someone grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back, while someone grabbed my waist and hauled me off the bloody, unconscious man. They held me tightly in their grips until I calmed down.

I felt my anger ebbing away and my vision cleared up. I could see how much damage I’d inflicted on Mason, but I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. I shrugged myself away from the two people holding me. “Dani, what the hell was that?” A voice, all too familiar, spoke from behind me. “Nothing that concerns you, Jack.” I hissed. Seeing Mason had brought back very unpleasant feelings I was hoping to avoid. I turned around when Jack sighed irritably. The other person was Atlas. “I know you well enough to-“ Jack began. I scoffed. “Do you? Know me well enough?” I interrupted. I turned away and rubbed at my bare shoulders. I wasn’t cold, I just needed stimulation to keep me grounded. “Why don’t you come back with us? Cool off for a bit?” Atlas spoke. I turned around to politely decline the offer, but saw Jack’s face. “Dude, why’re you being so nice to my sister?” He asked. 

Based on Jack’s reaction, I could guess that Atlas wasn’t this nice generally. “Jack, you didn’t hear what he did to her.” Atlas answered. I felt my panic rise again and began rubbing my shoulders. They rose in goosebumps again. Jack turned to me. “What did he do to you?” He asked. I didn’t answer. “Dani?” He asked again. I couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh, so now you wanna play protective big brother?” I sneered. Jack looked taken aback. “What do you mean?” He asked. “I was on the phone to you, on my 18th birthday, _begging_ you to answer it. I was on your voicemail for 10 minutes before it cut me off. Not once did you bother calling back.” I answered. Jack got out his phone and I turned away to try and find my gun again. I could hear 18-year-old me crying on the phone, so I stayed away. I could do without crying again. My voice was abruptly turned off again. I didn’t bother turning back to the two men in the alley. “I also called you and ended up leaving another message on February the 23rd, 2011. Listen to it, Jack.” I called. 

I could hear my voice ring through again. 

_“Hey Jack. It’s me… uh… god I’m exhausted. Uh, you didn’t bother to answer your phone at all in the last year, so I’ll tell you in a nutshell. Mason raped me 1 year and 7 days ago, I tried to kill myself twice in a week, went to rehab for 3 months, came out, tried to throw myself down the stairs and jump in front of a car. Then I got arrested and put back into rehab. Found out I was 4 months pregnant with a baby girl. Neither me or mum have the money to raise a baby, so I had to put her up for adoption. I tried to get into touch with the others, but none of them answered. I’m giving her to a nice couple, who have actually just found out that they’re 5 months pregnant. They said they’ll call her Emily Astrid. Uh, let me know if you want to see her, I can arrange something. Bye."_

I watched Jack’s face carefully. I could see Atlas place a hand on his shoulder. “I have a niece?” He asked. I could hear the tremble. “If you’d bothered to answer the phone, then you’d have found out sooner.” I replied, monotone. “How old is she?” I didn’t say anything as I pulled out my wallet. I handed it to him. “That’s us when she was just a few hours old and us at her first birthday. She turned 3 this February just gone.” I said. I could see tears in Jack’s eyes. “I’ve missed out on so much.” He whispered. “Yeah, you did. If you’d answered my first call, we could have a very different relationship right now. And I probably would have been able to keep Emily. But you didn’t… and I couldn’t.” I spoke. I truly missed her, but I couldn’t be with her all the time. I normally spend a weekend with her every month. For birthdays and special occasions, I spend about 3-5 days with her. At Christmas, I’d come on the 23rd and stay till the 2nd of Jan. It was nice how open and friendly the couple were. 

“Why didn’t you bring her here?” Jack asked as he handed back my purse. I scoffed. “For real?” I asked. Jack nodded hesitantly. “Because of two things. 1) I’m not dragging a young child, who isn’t even mine by law, away from her parents for at least a week to fly and visit a family she’s never met, and doesn’t have to by law, and 2) you didn’t answer my call when I told you I’d just had her, why should I bother?” I replied, my tone as cold as ice. Jack visibly flinched, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re an asshole.” I snapped as I stormed out of the alley. “Oh, by the way,” I called over my shoulder at my stunned brother. “Atlas has a broken ankle. You’ll need to deal with that,” I continued. I got about halfway down the street when someone, quite literally, knocked into my back. I “ooof”ed and turned around. Atlas was there, pale and shaking with pain and effort, but there. I pushed him so he was leaning on his uninjured ankle against the wall. “What’re you doing here, Atlas? You need help for that foot.” I asked. “I just wanted to say something before you began chasing us down for the law again,” Atlas panted out. I could see his arms trembling and sweat running down his face. “Make it quick though, cus you look like you’re about to pass out,” I warned, watching him carefully. 

“I just wanted to say sorry,” Atlas spoke gently. I sighed and leaned against the wall. “What for?” I asked. “For everything. For Jack, for your daughter, for your shitty abusive ex, for your suicide attempts… for everything. No one deserves that.” Atlas continued in the same tone. I sniffed and sighed again. “I appreciate it… thank you,” I whispered. Atlas stood up again but blanched and collapsed against the wall. “Jack!” I yelled. I could hear his footsteps coming from the alley way. I began walking away from Atlas, but paused and turned around again. “I might go easier on you from now on, Atlas. You’re not so bad.” I spoke. I swear I could see Atlas smile slightly. 

I walked away into the Mardi Gras crowd before Jack could see me. My phone suddenly buzzed. I pulled it out and checked the time. My eyes widened as I began jogging back to my temporary apartment. The show finished 2 hours ago… Dylan would be so mad!

Speak of the devil… I thought to myself as Dylan’s contact popped up onto my phone. I answered it with a wary: “Hello?"

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU WILDER??"


End file.
